


Hector: Marquess of Ostia

by WolfBeils



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken | Fire Emblem: Blazing Sword
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Gen, Headcanon, Past Character Death, blood mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-13 13:16:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20583116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfBeils/pseuds/WolfBeils
Summary: The war is over, and Lord Hector of Ostia is set to become Marquess of Ostia. It came as a surprise when he suddenly became more distant, shutting himself in his room and losing that special brightness in him.It seems the light has dimmed. And vulnerable.





	1. The Throne

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [i hear you all the time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19465786) by [elinciacrimea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elinciacrimea/pseuds/elinciacrimea). 

> OK BEFORE I START THIS!!!
> 
> This particular chapter was inspired by a fic I read a little while ago by user elinciacrimea (on here and Twitter):  
https://archiveofourown.org/works/19465786
> 
> I feel I should get that out of the way. I love that work so much and it's what inspired me to start this fic. Please support it and the creator. It's such an amazing work.

Not long had the lord been on home soil to truly stay. And not long ago had he been fighting for not only his life, but the lives of everyone. Finally, he's home in Ostia, preparing for his eventual ascention to the throne as Marquess of Ostia.

It was certain to everyone that laid eyes on him that he was tired and needed plentiful rest and space for a short while. One could say he's truly reached his limit. It surprised people really. It seemed as though the young man had no limit, pushing and pushing no matter what. That perception was no more seeing as he looks so visibly drained even if he still wore a smile or at the very least a neutral face. But neither of those expressions quite reached his eyes.

Oswin in particular noticed that. It was a given that him of all people would notice since his people reading skills are quite shrewd. He noticed in his lord's eyes that there was more behind that smile or straight face. Hell, those closest to him noticed that he just... wasn't himself.

He trained less.

He talked less.

He smiled less overall.

The war truly sucked his being from him. It sadden those close ones seeing him in this abnormal state.

The castle's colour faded to black, white, with a portent shade of blue.

Oswin, Serra, Matthew; their lives dimmed by a bit. Life seemed so boring without Hector in his usual decent spirits.

No frequent jests.

No light scolding.

No sibling spats.

No pranks.

No wind downs at the walls.

All the colour that existed washed away just like that as if it were fresh paint. All three hoped the colour would return soon. They wanted him back. Not even Oswin knows what to do here. No one's really seen him in this state even if it isn't the most evident that something's up. Between them, they knew something was up. Yet they've never seen Hector in such a vulnerable state.

* * *

Today in particular, they saw him less.

The heir stayed sat on his luxurious bed, his chin leaning on his hand. He seemed to be in thought, somewhat visibly frustrated.

("I could check that room out... Or I won't... Or I could do it...

Or not.

Or yes.

Or no.

Or-")

His thought train stopped abruptly as he sighed and shot up to his feet as fast as lightning.

("I'll go...")

He paced towards his door, his expression now a little more blank, replacing that slightly evident frustration when he was in thought. It lacked real emotion now, something that isn't quite normal in the grand scheme of things for Hector, but normal nowadays. His expressiveness is something people miss.

That bright and cheeky smile that can light a room and one's day.

His announcing, loud presence.

Even the times he gets a little riled up over some jest.

They missed it all.

As he opened the door with haste and stepped out of his quarters, a familiar voice and quiet clatter of armour was heard. He wanted to carry on to his destination but he knew that the source of those noises would only follow him until shooed away.

"Lord Hector, what do you plan on doing today? Am I of service for anything?"

Hector turned to face the source, otherwise Oswin, his faithful sworn guardian. He spoke in a dismissive and apprehensive manner.

"I'm just going somewhere. And I do _not_ want you on my tail or anything, you hear?"

The retainer's face went to one of disapproval. A frown at the overly serious and dismissive tone of his liege. He knew well that he couldn't sway Hector right now even if he tried.

"Mm... I cannot sway you to let me accompany you so... Please take care for today. And I wish you the best in whatever you plan on doing."

The heir shrugged, turning away from his guardian and starting to walk away with equal haste to that of when he was moving out of his room. As he spoke, his tone was still dismissive and serious.

"I will take care."

* * *

He progressed down the hallways in a slapdash manner. He paid no mind to what exactly is it he wants to do, only concerning himself with the task at hand, which is to get to his destination first. Get there, and then worry.

Yet in the back of his mind, the deepest depths, there is a lot of anxiety. It stuck out among the miriad of other things he's shoved back there. Frankly, he didn't know what to expect of what he's aiming to do right now. It made him anxious but he pushed the feeling aside, focusing on doing rather than feeling.

He does it often lately; discarding feelings and functioning like a robot. It's what's made him seem so monotonous in nature. There is so much on his mind that it's become so systematic as to shove it all aside and press on, even if it costs his feelings. He could care less that it's how he runs these days. He never really gave thought on how he'd even heal.

* * *

Within a few short minutes, he arrived at the set of double doors he is familiar with. A set of oakwood double doors, just as imposing as the last time he stood in the face of them. The last time he _did_ stand in front of them was when... that person was still alive.

The heir walked closer to them. Without much of a second thought, he pushed the two doors opem, letting them close behind him as he now stood in front of his objective.

The throne.

Just a chair in his mind. One more fancy than it ought to be. Chairs are for sitting, not looking fancy. That's what he thought. It's right really, but royal customs are royal customs. Still, why decorate such a thing so fancily?

The room he stood in felt quite dead. Nearly totally dead. A lot less alive than it did when he set foot in here last time. Last time he did, he wasn't alone. That person was still there.

Thoughts of said person started to rush around his mind. No amount of forcing back could stop the vicious storm. They were tearing through his head and sparking visible uncomfortableness. He didn't like it one bit. Regardless of these provoked thoughts and emotions, he pressed towards the throne. He surveyed it up, down, left, right.

In honesty, he thinks it looks quite comfy even with how ridiculously decorated the rims are. Even the cushions are quite fancy.

Is it really as comfy as the outer appearance suggests?

Hector sighed deeply as he moved even closer to the fancy furniture. More thoughts rushed through him. It started to irritate him as he shook his head trying to shoo them away. Didn't work. He just had to live with this in the moment. Deep down, he knew that the very room itself would mess with his head.

As he was closer in proximity to it, he took another good look at the throne. The sheer size of it became quite apparent to him.

Hector's at least a little tall. 5'11" is quite tall.

He's a little bit built in the muscular sense.

But... this throne seemed too big, even for _him_.

Regardless of the clearly unfitting size, he turned to reverse and park himself into this throne. A little sit won't hurt or anything, right...?

Hector thought that the case too soon.

It was uncomfortable. But also a little comfortable?

Ultimately, a bit uncomfy.

It reminded him so much of the person who sat here before. It felt like him. Hell, it _smelled_ like him. It felt so warm and familiar which... is sort of good...? It was a feeling nothing but that person could replicate in some moments.

That supposed comfort felt _uncomfortable_ though. Uneasing. Irritating even.

Too much.

Too much of _him_.

Too much of what he missed pouring into his head and filling it to the brim with unpleasant thoughts.

He spoke quietly.

"Do I... belong on this...?"

His brows now furrowed as that inner frustration with these feelings was emerging into his outer appearance. The heir slammed a fist down on his thigh. His voice raised.

"Do I?!"

That shout echoed throught the hallowed room. Those two shouted words were bouncing back all over the place. That in and of itself just aggravated him. No response to his question only provoked his growing tantrum further.

"You told me we were in this _together_, did you not?! Foul cur!"

No response once more other than his own voice stretching out because of the echo. It felt so mocking to him, angering him further to the point that he started to sweat.

"The nerve of you to leave this on me!"

More anger. More sweat.

"You are..."

He paused, taking back what he was initially going to say. Suddenly, his anger simmered yet negative emotion still lived inside him. He still sweated a little. But his tone of voice lowered.

"...I am a disgrace."

The heir slouched downward a little, and started to lean to one side of the big chair. His breathing became quite loud, deep even. It started to became stuttery.

...What's this?

A sniffle?

A quiet one. He was trying his utmost hardest to force its full potential back. But the emotion, the pain.

It's far too much even for him.

Another sniffle, but louder. Perhaps a little uglier than the last.

More.

They got louder.

Louder.

Louder.

Louder.

Louder.

Until he buried what he could of his head into one arm, sobs commencing and his teeth gritted.

Crying...

He's crying. He hated it. So childish and so wrong of him to cry. So very childish and wrong.

Hector felt so weak crying in what is near enough _his_ throne now. Not that it felt like his just yet even if his ascension draws nearer.

He wanted the tears to stop. They kept flowing, and flowing despite his inner pleads for them to just _stop_. The sobs only got louder the more that the thoughts of that person kept circling through his head.

He's upset.

He's angry.

_Scared_ even.

He felt so much. This new weight on him felt heavier than that of what he carried during the war.

The weight of impending responsibility.

**The weight of _loss_...**


	2. The Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can't hurt anyone if you hurt yourself, right?

Sitting in what would be  _ his _ new throne didn't do favours to his state in the slightest. It was clear as a cloudless day when he went towards his quarters that he isn't in any sort of optimal state. Oswin noticed quickly, showing expressive concern over his lord's declining state.

He could tell Hector is trying his hardest to put his emotions in that shell of his. It was evident by the clear frustration he showed. Oswin by now is all too familiar with Hector always being so angry when not feeling good. Never would there be much hint of sadness on his face. There's always anger.

The retainer tried to break through that shell.

"Milord, are you alright?"

"Can I help you?"

Offers for help. Reaching out a hand for the drowning young man.

Sometimes Oswin thought:

("What is the point...?")

Hector wouldn't listen and instead just block out those offers.  _ Oswin _ is the one meant to be the shield.  _ He's _ meant to be blocking things. Not the one whom is meant to be shielded. In a way, the man would think he has failed his job as a guardian. How could he let something breach Hector's fortress? How could he let it strike at the inside even?

It's obvious something struck at the heart of the fortress. It broke the fortress into pieces that are in desperate need of mending. But how does one mend something so broken?

Oswin would frown as Hector said no word. The lord opened his door and went straight into his quarters, shutting the entry behind him instantly. The sound of it shutting was akin to a slam. Not quite a slan, but there was more power behind it than necessary for using a mere door.

The retainer would continue to stand guard despite the late hour. He's worried, more than anything, so he will stand there incase he hears even the slightest evidence of something happening.

("...I hope he falls straight asleep. It won't do for the boy to stay awake when he's like that.")

* * *

Hector threw off his jacket and gloves, leaving him in a tunic and dark brown trousers. Down on his bed he parked, lowering his head. His breaths were quite deep, insinuating much exasperation. He'd move his hands to his head, ruffling his hair.

...And now he  _ looks _ a mess. His face and hair; so dejected.

He felt so tense again. A similar feeling that he felt back in the throne room. And now he could feel tears welling again. He forced the majority back but a couple drips escaped, falling to his lap. The Ostian felt those few drops so explicitly. They landed on his thighs and he could hear the very quiet patters they made. Gods it was so irritating. Really irritating. They stuck out to him so much and it made clouds cover so much in his head.

He shook his head and shot right up to his feet, dragging himself to a bookshelf. There was clear space to the right of the bookshelf, the carpets clearly marked. Seems as though it's been moved before. The size was decent enough to wear it could be moved by Hector with relative ease and no help.

The heir moved to the shelf, then heaving it to one side. It was easy work. The little contents shook somewhat at the force he used to move the furniture.

And the shelf revealed a wall. Just a wall? Not just a wall. A very evidently dented wall. Some cracks here and there. It definitely looks as though it's taken a few beatings over time.

Hector's cobalt eyes scanned that wall, surveying the midpoint where most the damage is. His left fist was clenching as he did so. Clenching very tightly. Perhaps too tightly as his nails, short nails mind you, are lightly stabbing at the base of his hand. Gods he feels so angry. His hearing is just focused on his breathing. Everything else from the moving of the bookshelf to his steps were some blur.

He shut his eyes, and...

"ARGH!!!"

A punch was launched at the wall. And another for good measure. One more...

The sounds were loud bangs. Quite loud that they'd be audible to a  _ certain someone _ who's outside his room. The wall would very subtly vibrate at the sheer force he put behind his punches.

Hector's breathing got louder. Faster too. He jolted back, setting back down on his bed quickly. He wanted to talk to himself, but no words came out. He wanted to just deprecate himself to the ground. Shout so many nasty things about himself and tell himself off. It's all in his head. Blurred and distorted voices of himself telling such terrible things about him. Another voice was there too but he wasn't quite aware of it.

He wanted to tell so much of himself to himself.

That he's a piece of shit, and will never amount to the impending job.

That he's weak for crying.

That he's so worthless.

A drag to be around.

Bad.

Terrible.

Stupid.

Any negative adjective. Anything negative as a whole. He hates himself so much right now.

For crying on the throne.

For shedding those small tears earlier.

For letting himself think about that person too much.

Sometimes he questions why he never cried on his journey when he's seen so much. Why did he just... stand there? Like a wall. He wants to be someone others can lean on. Someone to rely on. But at the same time, he didn't quite have in mind playing the part of a literal wall. To stand there and feel nearly nothing.

Truthfully, he's just a wooden wall. He can be sturdy, and has been. But a blow powerful enough could smash him to pieces. That blow has happened. And he can't seem to find his pieces. Seems as though they're just everywhere.

That second voice that he was unaware of was starting to become more clear as the voices of himself started to quieten. It's familiar, that's for sure. It started to stick out more, and more. Sure it was blurry but it was something so familiar. It was almost reassuring to hear a voice that isn't his own.

Although when his hearing became a bit more clearer after some more deep breathing, it was not quite reassuring. The actual words could be made out more. 

Just a little more focus...

It's Oswin.

Of course it's Oswin.

He was calling from the other side of the door.

"Lord Hector, are you alright?! Are you there?! Lord Hector?!"

Hector sighed long and deeply, mustering the energy and composure to try and speak. To give some test runs of his voice, he spoke quietly to himself, trying to regain composure.

"Ok... Ok... Ok...

Hello..."

Good enough. Now to try going louder for Oswin to hear him.

"I-I'm... I'm alright, Oswin. I just tripped is all..."

The calls ceased.

* * *

On the other side of the door, Oswin wasn't quite satisfied with his liege's answer. But he didn't dare continue trying to help, unknowing of what to do other than just... leave him be. If he tried to stay right out there for the night and fall asleep against the wall like he sometimes does, he'd only be more tempted to burst in and deal with him head on. He didn't quite want to do that. Not now anyway. It's too late at night.

"Alright, Lord Hector. Have a good night."

And with that, the knight walked off, heading over to his own quarters to retire for the night. A frown on his face.

* * *

Back in his room, Hector heard the faint clattering of armour, signifying that Oswin has walked away now.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself fully. But as he did, he felt a bit of sharp pain in his left hand. He winced at it briefly before lifting his hand to have a look. Marks on the base of his palm. Looks like it came from his nails? Looks like he did clench his fist too hard. But that wasn't where the pain was coming from.

He turned his hand over and sure enjoy, the source of the pain was clear as anything. His knuckles- blistered, bleeding. It’s whatever, he can grab one a glove and cover the wounds so it doesn’t stain his bed. And he can change the gloves in the morning, later cleaning the stained glove himself when the opportunity arises.

It’s ok. It’s fine. It’s happened before. No big deal. Just the same routine. Same shit, different day.

He thought that anyway. He felt nothing of the blood that was drawing, nor the stain that it would leave on the glove. He felt nothing of the momentary racket he made. Nor did he feel much for the concern he gave his guardian. Nor the pain, both mental and physical. He just became nothing in this moment. An empty shell, isolated in his room, letting nobody in to mend the fortress. Or attempt to anyway.

The pain was something he especially cared not of. Besides…

...better him than anybody else.


End file.
